1

I had been wet for Uncle Jake since the summer I turned sixteen and noticed how his T-shirt stretched across his chest when he lifted a beer to his mouth. Back then I didn’t know what to do with the ache between my legs, so I just stared and squeezed my thighs together under the picnic table. Now I was eighteen, home from my first year of college, and I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to look at me the way he used to look at my mom’s friends when he thought no one was watching—dark, hungry, like he could eat them alive. Except I wanted...